Secrets in the Southwest
by wolfpackof1
Summary: A series of vaguely connected anecdotes from New Mexico's most infamous author, Phony Hillerman
1. Anasazi in the Afternoon

Mack and Annie were walking home from 6th grade together, just like always. They were best friends, and always discussed their days on the way.

"Do you really think the Anasazi just disappeared?" Mack asked skeptically.

Annie looked thoughtful. "I don't know…it seems a little unrealistic, doesn't it? I mean, where would they go?"

"Maybe there was an earthquake, or a really good yard sale," offered Mack.

Before Annie could say that was ridiculous, there were no fault lines anywhere NEAR their territory, a strange noise came from the dumpster behind Kalvin's Pizza. It sounded like cats fighting over a tuna bone. It was wretched.

Mack and Annie glanced at each other nervously, then took off at a jog down the alley.

The battered brown bin was jumping like a…a…something that jumps. Annie, always the braver of the two, edged closer.

"Careful," said Mack, gnawing on his fingernails like popcorn shrimp on Fishy Fridays at the crab shack.

"Oh, come on, you have to see this!" Mack inched over to see a strange vortex, and Annie leaning towards it, and then as if in slow motion the pair were tugged right into the swirling vortex that was like a nebulous black hole! Oh shit! He closed his eyes.

When Mack opened his eyes, he was temporarily blinded by a sun that seemed to be brighter and hotter than the one at home in Rhode Island. He sat up rubbing his head, and saw Annie standing next to the ol' dumpster, picking what looked like cactus spines out of her flip-flops.

"Where _are_ we?" Annie asked, and for the first time, she sounded scared.

Before Mack could answer the two heard a noise like hail on the beach and saw a cloud of dust rise up in the distance. As the disturbance drew near figures materialized out of the sand.

"Ya-tah-hey," said the tallest man; his defined muscles were rippling and the bright desert glistened off his taut, bronze chest…er, right. _Anyway, _the sandals worn by the group, which was comprised of six men and two boys, slapped against the sand, causing the beach-hail noise.

"Uh…hey?" Annie ventured.

And then something strange happened (because nothing strange has happened yet). Though the men were clearly speaking a language unfamiliar to the pair, they found that somehow they understood every word.

"You're just in time," said the obvious leader of the group. "They're almost to the hill."

"They're almost to the…what? What are you talking about? Who is 'they'? Where are we?" Mack had suddenly gained his voice.

The assembled party looked at Mack like he had sprouted an extra head.

"This is Chaco Canyon," one of the men finally said. "And we were told to expect two anklebiters such as yourselves to help us save it from the Doom."

"But we're just kids! What can we even do?"

Annie interjected at this point. "Mack, come on! Can't you see they need our help?"

"We would be grateful," said a man.

The next thing Mack knew he and Annie were trotting after the men towards a small alcove at the bottom of the hill. All he could think was how glad he was that he had worn sneakers to school that day. Annie only had on her flip-flops—but then, she was the fastest girl in the whole school, even better than the boys. Suddenly Mack wondered if he would ever see his school—or his home—ever again. Where were they? _When_ were they? He asked Annie.

"I don't know," admitted Annie. "But this looks like the desert…and there are no canyons at home…" But at this point she was cut off—one of the boys shushed her as the party ducked into the tiny shelter.

Suddenly from atop the rise came a new cacophony of sounds. There were definitely a lot of men talking and shouting, and Mack and Annie recognized the distinct clang of metal on metal and soft padding of horse hooves. One look at the rest of the group's faces however was enough to tell that these sort of noises were alien to them.

Then somone spoke. It definitely wasn't the same language that their seekers had used, but it was intelligible to Mack and Annie.

"Stop," commanded a deep voice. "What is this place?"

There came a muffled answer no one could make out.

"Who lives here?" asked the first voice. And this time all assembled below the outcrop of rock could hear the slow, steady response.

"Ah-nah-sah-zeh."

The shock and fear that shone plainly on Mack and Annie's companions' faces turned quickly to an ugly, contorted rage. As they stood up, grabbing rocks, the first voice spoke again from the top of the hill.

"In that case, I claim this land in the name of King Charles, First and Fifth of that name, and undertake the somber mission of educating these heathens…"

Mack and Annie didn't hear the rest. At once they felt the weird spinning sensation again and closed their eyes. They opened them seconds—or maybe hours—later in the dumpster behind Kalvin's. They exchanged looks, and each could see that the other was pale and shaking.

But before either could say a word, they noticed a piece of paper on the ground. Annie bent to pick it up and saw that it had a note on it.

_~To: Mack and Annie~_

_It has only just begun._

_-JC_


	2. Skinwalkers on Sunday

Annie awoke at dawn with a strange feeling. At first she thought she was late for school—but no, Monday wasn't until tomorrow. Then something on the nightstand caught her attention.

It was a strange, strange sight. Annie's American Girl doll was propped up weirdly, sitting as though slumped over. But the most disconcerting thing was the doll's hands and feet. The palms and soles appeared to be scraped off, and were covered in burn marks. And Annie couldn't be sure, but the expression on Josefina's face, once serene, now appeared to be a terrified grimace.

The only thing Annie could think of was to call Mack. She crept downstairs, careful not to wake anyone else, and dialed the McIntosh's number, praying her best friend was up.

He was.

"Annie?" Mack answered on the first ring. He sounded nervous.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, something—"

"Weird happened?" Mack finished. "Yeah. Can we meet behind Kalvin's Pizza in an hour?"

Fifty-eight minutes later, Mack and Annie stood panting and out of breath by the battered dumpster.

"Ready?" Annie asked.

"Yeah," said Mack, sounding braver than he felt.

The pair hopped in the dumpster just as the sun was rising and—

Nothing.

Mack and Annie sat in the congealing pizzas and empty cardboard boxes feeling stupid.

Annie sighed in frustration. "Why? I really thought this was the sign…you know, that things were beginning like 'JC' said."

"I know. I was hoping we would finally understand what the heck happened the other day…"

Before he could finish, a whirring sounded from the bottom of the dumpster and they began to spin. Annie and Mack exchanged looks and Annie grinned nervously—and then they closed their eyes.

When they felt ground again, Mack and Annie cautiously raised their eyelids and took in their surroundings.

It was warm, but not as hot as the other afternoon. The sun was lower, barely peeking over the canyon rim. A cursory glance told them this was Chaco again—and also that this time they were utterly alone. A strange and unnerving feeling hung in the air, and the kids shivered.

An unusual symbol was etched in the dirt by Mack's foot. It depicted a human handprint with a three-turn spiral on the palm that ended in an arrow protruding toward the fingers.

Mack took one look at the symbol, then met Annie's eyes.

"No way."

"Aw, come on Mack, this is it! I'm sure of it!"

Mack shook his head vehemently. "Not a chance, Annie. This place is dangerous! We can't just walk around following lines in the dirt!"

"Oh, then I suppose we should just wait around until someone happens to stumble across us in this desert wasteland?" Annie put her hands on her hips, like she did when she was trying to look thirteen. "Let's go."

Mack sighed. "Fine. What do we do?"

"Isn't it obvious? We turn around three times then go in the direction of the arrow."

"No, wait, Annie, that sounds…aw, wait up!"

As she completed the third rotation and tottered off slightly dizzy in the direction indicated, Annie failed to notice the thin snake that seemed to materialize from the spiral's center and trace her path.

Mack froze.

Oblivious, Annie strode purposefully toward a dark figure ahead.

"Ya-tah-hey," said the man.

"Yeah, hey!" Annie replied enthusiastically. "Are you 'JC'? Can you help us? Why are we here?"

Before the man could answer, Mack squeaked.

Annie whirled around. "Mack, wha—"

The serpent, which had trailed Annie silently, struck the mysterious man with the surprise and ferocity of a Nagini-on-Snape attack.

"Aaah…" croaked the man, as the snake slithered away with inviperid speed.

Mack and Annie screamed.

"Wait…" The man was breathing heavily now, yet he seemed desperate to speak..

The kids bent in close to catch his last words.

"I…am Joe Leaphorn…" wheezed the man. "I…was sent…by…Jim Chee…"

"'JC'," breathed Annie.

"There's…danger here…" Every word was now a struggle, as though causing Leaphron infinite amounts of pain. "Not…a snake…you…must…"

But suddenly his head dropped back and with one last twitch, Joe Leaphorn's soul left this world.

Mack and Annie screamed again.

The dumpster appeared in front of them and without either really comprehending what was happening, dragged them home.

In the alley Mack rose shakily. "Do…do we tell someone?"

Annie's voice was steady, but she stayed on the ground so her shaky legs would not betray her fear. "I mean, tell who? Tell them what? 'We were just in the desert halfway across the country, and some Jumper guy we don't even know was just killed by what is apparently not a snake?' Get real, Mack." She sighed and dropped her head into her hands.

"Annie, you don't think the snake was a…a witch, do you? Those skinwalking people we learned about?"

Annie gasped. "Oh my god—I bet it was. Why didn't they want that Hopper dude to tell us about Jim C…?"

Mack shuddered. "I don't know—but I think we can defnitely say something weird is going on…"


	3. Navajos at the New Moon

The sky was dark—too dark. The wind made eerie noises as it scraped branches and picked up dry leaves. Annie shuddered. Only eleven years old, and she had just witnessed a murder…

Ahem…the sky was still dark and it was drizzling after the previous night's storm. Typical Rhode Island—and no one expects anything different. But for two sixth-graders, walking home from school, the rain was a bittersweet gift.

"I wish we could bring some of this back with us," sighed Annie forlornly, looking up at the sky and putting out a hand to feel the cool drops. It was a testament to how much she was excited to continue their adventures that she did not just hope to go—she expected to return.

Mack, ever the warier of the two, nevertheless agreed. "Maybe we should stop at the dumpster?"

There was a glint in Annie's eyes. "Race you."

"Aw, come on, you know you're faster than me!" Mack protested as he was splashed in the face. OMQ, how embarrassing, right?

In the dumpster. Dark, smelly (shipment of old cheese). A sudden spinning, and when Mack and Annie opened their eyes, they saw…

Nothing. Total darkness.

At first, they were freaked out entirely. But, give it a minute—their eyes adjusted to the black and slowly realized they were on a large, smooth rock with gently rounded edges. It was night.

Before Annie could open her mouth to say anything, there was a rustle from the low shrub beside her. She jumped, then relaxed—just a rabbit.

"I think we're—mmmffh!" Annie began to speak but was rapidly cut off by Mack clamping a hand over her mouth.

"Shhh!" he hissed. "Listen! Can't you hear that?"

A low rumble sounded from somewhere in the west—or the east, or the south or something. Quickly the noise grew into a sound like and engine—and it was only gaining on them.

"Run!" Annie cried.

"No—hide!" Mack grabbed her wrist just as she began to pop up and dragged her behind a bush.

But the vehicle pulled up not six feet away from them. The engine shut off and a door opened, then shut. Then slow, quiet footsteps.

A voice just like you would expect to go with such a footfall spoke. "Mack? Annie?" said a man. "Are you guys around here?"

Mack and Annie looked at one another and mouthed "J.C.!" Then they crawled out from their hiding place.

Now, they had great reason to believe that this was actually J.C. I mean, sure, this mysterious speaker did know their names, but let's not forget that they were just magically transported thousands of miles instantly in a dumpster. Personally, I wouldn't rule out it not being someone else. But they did, and luck for them, it was J.C., the man himself.

He looked just like they describe him in the stories, and he wore a tan uniform with a badge that read 'Navajo Tribal Police' and boots. His face was young, but he looked tired and—perhaps this was just the darkness—somewhat sad.

"Ya-tah-hey," he said finally.

"Oh, yeah, um, hey," stammered Annie. "Are you—are you 'J.C.'?"

"Please, call me Jim," the man replied, for it was indeed Jim Chee. "I'm glad you came."

Mack timidly raised his hand, then ventured, "Um, Jim, sir? We're glad we came too—at least I think so—but, um, _why_ exactly did we come?"

Jim sighed. "To put it bluntly? There's been a series of strange events occurring—not the least of which is the murder of my good friend Joe Leaphorn—and we suspect skinwalkers—witches. We need your help to catch them and solve this."

"But why us? I mean, we're just two kids from Rhode Island who've barely learned the basics of this at school. How could we be of any help to you at all?" Mack wondered aloud.

Jim started to tick things off on his fingers. "For one, we need a fresh pair of eyes on the case. You two are familiar enough with this place and its ways to not totally be confused, but are removed enough from the situation to view it differently. Two, you're old enough to understand things, but young enough to have a unique worldview. In 6th grade, you know everything. Three, well, let's be honest—how man people do you know who would believe in a magic dumpster that can cross time and space?"

The kids could only nod.

"Oh, and four, of course, there's always the prophecy. You know—evil wizard, prodigal children, dangerous quests…the whole nine yards."

This was just too much for Mack. "What?!" he spluttered.

"Just messing with ya."

Annie managed a giggle, but Mack did not look pleased.

"Alright, alright, anyway, enough for now. I just need to know that you guys will help us—however that may be." Jim Chee looked solemn once more.

Both kids nodded their heads gravely.

"Then I wish you luck. And I'll see you soon."

As he spoke, Jim's figure became hazy, and his voice weirdly distorted. Mack and Annie saw him lift a hand in a wave, and then just the inside of the dumpster. Rain pattered on the roof of it. They were home again.

Mack and Annie climbed out of the dumpster and grinned at each other. Looks like more fantastic adventures were on their horizon.


	4. Four Corners on Friday

As was customary, Mack and Annie walked home from school; this particular day with excitement because even though they loved to learn, it was Friday Friday, gotta get down on Friday. And so it was that the two were in high spirits—until they neared their houses and saw their mothers standing on Annie's porch looking distinctly _not_ pleased.

The backstory was this: Mack had always been a cautious creature of habit, but recently his parents had been noticing he seemed a bit, well, erratic really. And secretive. In the last week, he'd been quiet, staying in his room a lot more and arriving home later from school.

Now, Mr. and Mrs. McIntosh (_no, please, call us Tommy and Quin_) were not unduly worried—they knew he was getting to those magical teenage years soon and that's just how kids acted; and besides, he was with Annie, so nothing was _wrong_, exactly. But when Quin ran across the street real quick to grab a different sized paintbrush and she and Mrs. Hall (_no, Mrs. Hall is my mother! Please, Rose is fine_) got to talking (as usual), it came up that Annie had been grounded.

"Yes, I keep catching her sneaking out," said Rose.

Quin looked thoughtful…and suspicious. "Mack's been a little closed-off too. I was just putting it down to snotty teenagerness but now I'm wondering if it couldn't be something more…sinister?"

And so it was that Mack and Annie got interrogated with the depth and ferocity of a visit from Tomás de Torquemada.

"Sex," said the mothers.

"No way," said the kids, blarging.

"Drugs," said the mothers.

"Uh, _no_," frowned the kids.

"Rock and roll," said the mothers.

"Not," sighed the kids.

"Well, what then?" Quin put her head in her hands and at the same time Rose threw hers in the air. "We are your mothers and we have a right to know!"

Mack frowned. "You wouldn't believe us if we told you."

"Hey! We are cool and hip and funky fresh yo! We'll understand, we just want you to trust us," Rose finished, trying to look sympathetic.

Mack and Annie glanced at each other nervously, then sighed.

"We just…we can't tell you. Just trust us, please! We're safe (Mack crossed his fingers behind his back), and everything is okay. Please, we're not kids anymore!" Annie's voice rose as she spoke. The mothers looked taken aback.

"But…" Quin started to say, and Annie held up a hand. "No. We can do this. Please just trust us."

And with that she grabbed Mack by the ear, turned on her heel, and stormed out.

Gwinn Vivian sighed resignedly. He hated to see his children fight.

The sun was beginning to project its still-cold beams of light through the top of the treeline, illuminating the cool dew on the lawn. It was as though the diamond necklace of the gods had split its beads across the grass.

Vivian turned away from the plate-glass Andersen window, which had cost him $119.99 at Home Depot two autumns ago, with his coffee in hand. He wandered through the bright kitchen over to his desk, sat down, and began to read the latest scholarly publication from the University of Arizona Archaeological Press.

After a few moments, however, he leaned back in his chair, pushed his glasses onto his forehead, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was no use; southwestern archaeology was—quite literally—a dying study. Vivian was one of the youngest and healthiest members of the Crow Canyon Society, and even he was eighty-three with a persistent cough and a bad hip. Unless Mack and Annie could revive the discipline, the southwest was—to put it delicately—screwed. Funny that its fate should be placed upon the shoulders of two kids—and from Rhode Island, no less.

The kids in question were at present sitting in the apple tree behind Mack's house, crunching the sweet fruit as they worried (Mack) and fumed (Annie).

"It's not fair, we're not babies, we're not even doing anything wrong…" Annie ranted on as a breeze rustled the leaves and they were pelted by tiny, cold raindrops.

Mack was frustrated, but he knew that was Cynthia had said was true. If they really weren't little kids anymore, they had a responsibility to society and the world to make a change. _But it's so big_, he thought. _I'll never know where to start_.

Annie had by this point snapped out of her issues. She and Mack were BFFs and she could tell he was troubled. "I know what we can do," she said.

Mack jerked out of his reverie. "What?"

Annie huffed impatiently. "I said, I know what we can do to start saving the world. It's not so hard—at school we go ask about the water problems. Then, the next time we go back and see Chee…"


	5. Hopi at High Noon

The sun father was in his house in the sky resting at midday as was customary. From his zenith he smiled benevolently down at his children, the earth-people, the Hisatsinom heirs, those of mud-and-corn.

The Hopi.

Guess what—it was raining again. That had to be some kind of precipitory record, right? The Dark news casters joked about Rhode Island floating away into the Atlantic, but for two sixth-graders in an alley dumpster, the concerns seemed almost legitimate.

"It had to have been called Rhode ISLAND for something, right?" Mack fretted. His BFF Annie smacked him on the side of the head.

"Rhode Island _and Providence Plantations_," she reminded Mack exasperatedly. "And when was the last time you saw a plantation here?" She shifted to avoid sitting in moldy dough. "Man, after seeing what kind of gross stuff they throw away, I can't eat at Kalvin's Pizza anymore."

"Yeah, I know. Mom tried to get it for dinner Tuesday and I almost blarged at the thought of it…" Mack trailed off, gesturing at the cheese curds and rotten vegetables, then suddenly turned his head. "Hey Annie, hear that?"

Annie frowned. "No."

"Exactly," said Mack, adjusting his glass. "Either it's stopped raining, or…"

Annie got that excited gleam in her eyes as she caught on. "…Or…WE'RE BACK!" She shouted the last words and banged on the roof of the dumpster. "This is going to be so cool and—HOLY SHIT!"

Mack looked reproachful. "Annie, don't swe—HOLY SHIT!" Annie spared him a withering glance before turing back to the vista that had reduced them to shouting expletives.

They were floating in the dumpster at the confluence of the Colorado and Little Colorado rivers. Blue water mixed with clay, and dirt swirled around them. Any way they swam to shore, it would be against a current.

"Mack…" began Annie warily, and looked over to see her furrowed brow. He knew what the problem was.

Ever since they were little, their mothers had signed them up for all kinds of activities and sports together. Annie always excelled over Mack—except at swimming. As soon as she hit the water, she always panicked. Rose chalked it up to a traumatic water birth. Regardless, Mack was the only one of the pair who could really swim.

"Oh…" But before he could say more, they heard a knocking come from the side of the dumpster. Mack peered over the edge and saw a small wooden boat, with two bars and no oars, waiting in the water like an expectant puppy at the doorstep. He relayed his findings to Annie, who grimly agreed that this seemed like their best option, and the dynamic duo launched themselves overboard.

The tiny vessel creaked, then began hurtling its new passengers toward the shore. The water churned all around, throwing up a fine spray that all but obscured the rocky cliffs (presumably) ahead.

On shore, Tara shaded her eyes. "I think I see them," she finally announced.

The small assembled crowd began to mutter and nudge each other. Tara looked down and adjusted her manta. Stupid skirt, she thought to herself. Wouldn't it make more sense for _men_ to wear skirts, and _women_ to wear pants?

A not-so-subtle "Ahem" from her mother to her left brought Tara back. The boat was nearly to them by now. Two small figures met the expectant gazes of the assembled individuals, and returned them with equal curiosity.

"They are here!" Tara's grandfather boomed from somewhere behind her. She turned for a moment and noticed the impressive figure he cut.

Katherine was the chief of the Resting Sun clan, and as such was permitted to wear the elaborate avian-themed pashmina afghan. From the way he stood, with his arms spread out wide, every one of the thousands of yellow feathers were visible.

The 'sailors' were at the water's edge meow. Tara looked down at them—just kids, really, they couldn't have been any older than she was—with her hands on her hips until her mother nudged her in the back, a not-so-subtle command to help the boy and the girl out of the water.

Mack reached for the outstretched arm of the girl in the black dress. Or skirt, or something. She grabbed onto his hand firmly, and Mack offered up a tentative smile. The girl seemed to consider him for a moment, then smiled back.

From the back of the boat, Annie snorted and flat-tired Mack. She was more unsettled than she would have liked to admit, and was eager to prove herself again. Certainly _Annie_ did not need help climbing to land.

Once on terra firma, Annie closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herslef, then looked at the crowd and stuck out her hand. "Hi," she said brightly. "I'm Annie."

For a few, interminable-feeling moments no one moved. Then an old man came out from behind a tall, broad woman and shook.

"I'm Katherine," he said regally. Simultaneously, Annie bit her tongue and Mack tried to step on her foot to nip the inevitable giggle in the bud. While Annie was distracted, he shook Katherine's still proferred hand. "I'm Mack," he said.

Katherine nodded. "Do you know why you are here?"

Quickly Mack and Annie looked at each other.

"No," answered Annie," but we know that we're probably not here by accident."

Again, Katherine seemed satisfied with the response. "You came from our _sipapu_," he stated simply. "And that means a great deal. The Rising Sun clan—indeed, all Hopi—have not had a prophecy in quite some time."

"We'll do whatever you need," Annied stated baldly.

"We'll try to help however we can," added Mack.

"I'm Tara," said Tara.

And with that we leave our intrepid journeyers until another day!


	6. Dead Indians at Dawn

Mack and Annie were on a rocky spit of shore against the Colorado River following a convoy of Hopi—specifically, the Resting Sun Clan. Appropriate to their name, it was indeed a few minutes past noon. Katherine, the clan leader, led the small party along the riverbank and then onto a gravelly path through harsh desert scrub out to a dusty lot, where a few trucks were parked. From within the folds of their traditional cotton raiments, people pulled out car keys and cell phones. The group loaded into the trucks; Mack and Annie followed Tara's gesture and the three climbed into the back of Tara's mom's truck.

Once on the road, Annie felt like she could finally ask what was going on. Amidst the noise of the motor on the pebbly road she turned to Tara and asked, "So—how did you guys know to be there?"

Tara shrugged and responded coolly. "The prophecy indicated that we needed to be."

"What prophecy?" Mack asked.

"The one that said you were coming."

Annie rolled her eyes—this was like pulling teeth. But secretly, deep down, she was amused. This girl was way similar to her.

They sat in silence until the truck pulled into a little town—just a hill top with a small cluster of houses, really. Tara's mom drove up to a low mud home fronted by an extensive garden, a verdant surprise for Mack and Annie who expected nothing like it was even possible in the hot, arid climate.

They hadn't even noticed how tired they were until Tara's mom set up the couch cushions for them to sleep on.

"Laurie," called Katherine softly from the hall, and with that she turned out the light and went to attend to her father. In her own room, Tara hummed as she folded and put away her manta. Then she too went to sleep.

Mack and Annie were awakened at daybreak by a horrible, high-pitched keening. Tara appeared at the doorway, her face pale and blotchy.

"What's wrong?" Annie asked, as Mack fumbled for his glasses.

"It's the Council of Elders," said Tara. "They're all dead."


	7. The Cochise Corn Massacre

Tara looked away, embarrassed by her puffy, red eyes. In front of her, Mack and Annie stood stiller than if they had seen a basilisk's reflection. In the kitchen someone dropped a pot with a clang and muttered a curse, breaking the silence.

Finally, Annie managed, "But how?"

Mack tried to elbow her in the stomach—she was so tactless sometimes!—but only got a sharp pinch in return. Luckily, Tara didn't seem offended.

"My dad said they were all bloated and sort of disfigured. Almost like…"

"Snake poison," Mack finished with a gasp. He glanced at Annie and could tell that she shared his suspicions. _Leaphorn_, she mouthed. Mack nodded, then turned back to Tara.

"Were they marked in any way? Like maybe on their hands, or feet…" he trailed off as Tara's eyes widened.

"Like a…but you don't think…" she began.

"_Skinwalkers_," they all said in unison. For the just the briefest moment, the air seemed to grow colder. Annie put her hands on her hips determinedly.

"We have to go see the bodies," she said authoritatively. Tara looked appalled.

"You can't be serious."

"Yeah, I am. Obviously, something sinister is going on here, and I for one would like to know what it is, whether you guys come with me or not. Now, where are the bodies being kept?" There was a dangerous glint in Annie's eyes that Mack did not like.

Tara took a deep breath and sighed. "I guess…they're probably down in the Snake Society kiva on the other side of Blanco Hill. But Annie," she gulped and went on. "I mean, you can't just go in there. They're—they're _dead_." She let her words run out, looking fearful.

"So?" Annie raised an eyebrow challengingly. "What, you're not scared of ghosts, are you?"

At the mention of the word "ghost," Tara squeaked and Annie rolled her eyes. Mack decided to step in before it got ugly.

"Hey, it's okay," Mack said reassuringly to Tara. She gave him a watery smile then tentatively stepped forward and hugged him. He felt really awkward, like Ricky Bobby. What do I do with my hands? He looked over Tara's shoulder and Annie glared at him. He tried to give her a meaningful, come-on-you-could-be-a-little-nicer look, but she just tapped her foot and turned away, arms tightly crossed.

Tara stepped back, a little pink. "Okay. Let's…let's do this," she said with a trembling voice.

Annie looked over at her coolly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Tara replied evenly. The two girls locked eyes for a moment and Annie raised her chin slightly.

"Then follow me."

The kiva for the dead was on the outskirts of town, obscured by a little hill (pyramid?). The trio stayed low and moved quickly, trying not to draw any attention to themselves. Twice they had to duck into the rabbitbrush to avoid adults along the path, and once they were nearby crouched in an old, dried up acequia and waited until the coast was clear.

Annie looked calm, cool, and collected as she strode up to the ladder, but her heart was beating so hard it was a wonder it didn't betray her. She knew she talked a good game, but going into a hole with a bunch of dead bodies…well, that was different. But after a glance at Tara, who seemed to have composed herself a bit, she gritted her teeth and resolutely began climbing down the ladder. If there was one thing Annie Hall-Hall could _not_ stand, it was looking like a coward.

"Blughhh…" came a weird noise from above and Mack grabbed at his queasy stomach. From the start this had seemed like a Bad Idea, and when the stench of the cadavers reached his nose, it was just too much. He dropped from the ladder and squinted through the dust motes in the half-light of the kiva.

"Look at their palms and the soles of their feet," Annie whispered as she picked up the withered arms and legs and, after a cursory once-over, let them drop grotesquely. Mack tentatively started doing the same thing, trying desperately no to look at the blank, deformed faces (and therefore seeing all of them). It quickly became apparent that a strange brand was burned onto each hand and foot, like a shaky X, and then the rest of the skin scraped off. Mack turned to see how Tara was doing and found her unmoving, staring at the opposite wall (if a round room can even be said to have such a thing) intently.

"What?" he asked, and Tara pointed to a spot near the floor.

Mack and Annie had literally no idea what to expect in a kiva and so were unfazed by the little dumpster-shaped hole that was in the wall. But Tara knew better.

"Guys, that's—that's not usually there," she finally managed. Mack and Annie looked up from their macabre task and after a moment, it dawned on them. Well, at least on Annie.

"Then we know what we have to do next," she said, and led the way through the hole.

Who knows how long they crawled for. Half a minute, or half an hour, or two hours; time didn't really have a place in the interminable pitch-black tunnel. Finally they emerged into what appeared to be a tiny cave, with a bricked-up wall that allowed pinpricks of sunlight to shine in and illuminate the piles of corn that lay everywhere.

None of them were quite sure what this place was, and they weren't exactly keen to stay there. They couldn't have, anyway; Mack glanced back for a moment and saw only solid rock. In front, Annie poked at the bricks and dislodged a few. The three watched them fall hundreds of feet, straight down a sheer cliff.


	8. Basketmakers, Bitch

Mack began to hyperventilate, and Annie smacked him on the back of the head.

"We're gonna die!" he started to wail, and then Tara hit him too. This surprised him so much he stopped mid-whine and sat up. Determined as she was not to like her, Annie couldn't help giving Tara a tiny grain. _Okay, that was pretty cool of her_.

Mack was totally perplexed. "Tara, did you just hit me?"

"Yeah, I did," she replied matter-of-factly. "We need to get out of here, and you bitching and moaning in the corner is not exactly productive.

Annie snorted. Maybe this girl wasn't so bad after all. "All right, so, do we know where we are or anything? I mean, I take it this is not what is supposed to happen when you go into a kiva."

Tara smiled sadly for a moment. "No, it's not." But suddenly she glanced around her for a minute, looking intrigued. After watching her study the crumbling rocks and ancient mortar seemingly without reason for, like, FOREVER (about thirty seconds) Annie couldn't stand the suspense. "What is it?" she burst out. "What's going on?"

Tara answered without stopping her examination. "I've been here before, I think. Well, no…but a place like this…my grandfather brought me." For a brief instant her eyes clouded over with tears. Tentatively, Annie patted her on the shoulder and Tara gave a small smile and went on. "Anyway, I've been in one of these once. It's an ancient granary; it's probably like a thousand years old or more. And from what I remember…they always had an escape hatch…right…" She decisively pushed a small spot on the ceiling and to Annie's amazement a perfect hole popped out, letting in a wide beam of sunlight. "…here!" Tara finished triumphantly.

The primordial dust, finally released from its millennial clay prison, glittered in the new light for a moment before settling. Mack coughed once and Tara and Annie both grinned hugely, then clambered out the passage to the surface.

"Aw, come on guys, wait for…oh," Mack fell silent as he pulled himself out of the granary and saw what the girls were staring at.

Three men were standing with their arms crossed, staring down at the kids. They stood straight and proud, with their chests puffed up, but Mack suspected that they actually were not much taller than he was.

By now this scene was so familiar that Mack was expecting it when Annie finally ventured, "Yeah-that-hey?"

The men's stern demeanors cracked as all three busted out laughing.

Well, this was new.

Tara looked apprehensive, and Mack flat out terrified, but Annie did not enjoy being made fun of. "What the heck, guys?" she yelled angrily.

Finally the giggling subsided and, still wearing a huge goofy grin, the man in the center stepped forward with a hand outstretched. On each finger he wore an odd ring, woven from sharp grass with fibers sticking up all around.

"Hey, what up," he said amicably. "I'm Mixmaster D-Fresh. Welcome to da hood."

All three children were shocked to silence by the Mixmaster's words. At last, Tara managed, "Uh…what does the 'D' stand for?"

"The D is for my weiner," the man replied as though it should have been obvious.

This forestalled any other questions the kids might have had. One of the other men laughed. "Come on," he said. "We gon' bring ya'll back to da crib." He began walking, then paused and turned around. "They call me Lil' Yucca," he said, "and this my boy Grunt." He gestured toward the third man, who grunted. Annie giggled, but quickly turned it into a cough. Lil' Yucca frowned.

"You ain't got the glassy-eye, do ya? Cain't be havin' none of that in da hood now, ya heard?"

Mack looked extremely puzzled, but before he could speak, the party rounded a corner and the pueblo—I mean, the _hood_—came into view.

It was Tara who first noticed that things were, well, not quite right. The men—and indeed, everyone in the village—were dressed very simply, in rough, spartan robes. Okay, she could deal with that—this pueblo was just more traditional than others. But other elements didn't seem to make sense either. a huge drainage ditch ran down the side of the town, with auxiliary canals dug in every couple hundred yards to feed the small, boxy gardens behind each house. However, as far as Tara knew, no one had used the old irrigation methods in centuries. They were all supposed to be just faintly outlined ruins now, right? And for another matter, she didn't recognize most of the crops (for that's what they obviously were) that were growing.

What finally tipped Tara off to their current situation, though, were the women sitting outside of their homes. They were in small groups, talking and gossiping with one another. "Ooh girl, did you hear what I heard? I heard that Aliya found her man J-Tso runnin' around wit some ho." "Dang girl, you must be trippin'!"

Struck as Tara was by the, er, _unexpected_ manner of speaking everyone seemed to have, she was more impressed by the fact that all the women were making baskets. That's right—just weaving grasses. She had seen this tableau countless times in her own village, but all the women she knew made pottery. Suddenly, it hit her. Tara pulled Mack and Annie in close. Annie's looked intrigued—she could tell by the look on Tara's face that she had definitely discovered something important. Mack just looked embarrassed to be huddled in so close to two girls.

"What is it?" Annie asked. "Do you know where we are?"

"No," Tara answered slowly, "but I think I know _when_ we are."

Annie felt her stomach sink at the thought of more time travel. Tara went on.

"The granary, the canal, the baskets…" Tara looked solemn before lapsing into an imitation of the speech they had heard. "These be da Basketmakers, bitch."


	9. Tuba City on Tuesday

In the midst of all the funeral preparations, it was sundown until anyone realized that the two foretold children-along with Veronica's girl-hadn't been seen in hours. And it was several more hours before any sort of search group could be organized.

It quickly became apparent, however, that the kids were nowhere around the village. By now it was after midnight; they decided to resume the search in the morning. And so it was with doubly heavy hearts that Tara's kin went to bed Monday night.

Though she was an integral part of the ceremonies for the dead that had to be performed sooner rather than later, Veronica awoke at first light and drove the truck over to Tuba City. Call it a gut feeling, or mother's intuition, whatever you want, but somehow she knew the kids were nowhere nearby. She'd file the missing persons report over at the Tuba City police station.

Albert "Cowboy" Dashee looked up from his paper when he heard the door open. Damn it, I just wanted a quiet morning, he thought, a scowl growing on his face. He quickly composed himself, however, when he saw who had walked in.

"Oh-er, morning, Ms. Humara," he said, going a little pink as he straightened his badge. He was getting flustered. _Come on, Cowboy_, he chided himself. _Keep it together_. Veronica didn't seem to notice, though-truth be told, she looked a bit preoccupied herself.

"Good morning, Cowboy," she answered. Her tone was even, but there was a slight tremor behind her words. "I need to fill out a-no, wait, three-no, one-I guess three missing persons reports. No wait, maybe just one…" Veronica trailed off, running a hand through her hair distractedly. Dashee gulped, then the meaning of her words hit him.

"Missing? Who? What's going on up at the village, anyway? I heard a strange rumor yesterday." Dashee frowned, perplexed. This department hadn't seen a case like this in a long, long time, and combined with the story he had heard, it seemed to be getting more sinister by the minute. Skinwalkers… He shivered, then tried to grin. "Okay, Ms. Humara, between one and three missing persons reports coming right up. However when he saw the name she wrote at the top of the first one, his brows knitted so tightly that it would have impressed any state-fair-prize-winning grandmother.

"Tara?" he said. "Isn't that your girl?"

Veronica looked up at Dashee with shining eyes under the harsh fluorescent lights of the police station. "Yes, Cowboy," she said softly. "Yes, she is."


	10. Maria Martinez--Mañana

Meanwhile the phone rang at the house of the newspaper editor. He picked it up on the first ring, hoping it was more information on the deaths in the village. Skinwalkers… He shivered. Journalist though he may have been, Kevin Frank-Spider was a Hopi at his core, and like any other good Hopi, was thoroughly unsettled by the talk of witches.

"Hello?" he said quickly.

"Hi there, my name is Sheryl Breazy, that's B-R-E-_A_-Z-Y, and I'm calling about the woman potter?" The female voice spoke fast and decisively.

Kevin was…confused, to say the least.

"Um-huh?" he responded eloquently? A nasally laugh sounded through the earpiece and Kevin held the phone away from his face disgustedly.

"You know," chuckled the woman. "That old woman-what was her name? Mary…no, Maria…yes, that's it, Maria, Maria Martinez?"

Incredulous, Kevin blurted out, "Lady, are you crazy? Why the hell are you calling _me_ about this?"

Sheryl huffed, sounding offended. "_Well_, I _thought_ that as a _journalist_, you _might_ know what was going on in the area. _Apparently_ I was wrong."

"Lady, I don't have time for this!" he yelled, and slammed the phone down. Then he folded his arms on his desk, put his head on them, and sighed. He could definitely feel a headache coming on.


	11. Kit Carosn in a Kiva

He rode into the canyon on his noble steed, head held high. Ahead the Indians cowered in fear. _This_ is what it must have been like to be a conquistador, thought Carson. He had always fancied himself a bit of a history buff, and was particularly fond of the Spanish. He'd never tell anyone-the other cowboys would simply tease him mercilessly-but in his oilcloth, Carson carried a battered copy of _The Adventures of Don Quixote_ which he liked to refer to when times on the trail got tough.

Surveying his surroundings, Carson slowed his horse Buttercup to a walk. About three spits of a watermelon seed ahead he could see the little Navajo encampment. A small knot of women and children stood by a smoking fire, looking apprehensively at him…no, wait, not at him. At something behind him. Carson turned to look but before he could swivel halfway around in his seat, he heard a sharp crack and saw a blinding flash of white light, and then nothing.

The children gathered tentatively around the prone figure. A few of the braver ones poked at it, tried to open its eye, but at a scolding from one of the women they all giggled and scampered away.

A group of men wearing ceremonial headdresses adorned with feathers strolled up to Carson solemnly. The head priest bent down and felt the prostrate figure's neck for a moment, then straightened, nodding once. At this the other men in the party picked up Carson as if he were no more than a deer hide and carried him to the kiva of the Fallen Husk clan. It was their duty to deal with the dead.

Paco, a novitiate in the Fallen Husk's kachina cult, was nervous, clammy and shaking. This would be his first funeral preparations by himself. He was frightened of death-like any good Hopi-but this was his job, his calling, his path in life. The thunk came on the kiva's roof door, and he knew it was time-the body must be dealt with. He probably would know who it was-no one in the village was a stranger to him-but as the white corpse was lowered down to him, firelight reflecting strangely off its skin, he knew this was no simple first time. His initiation, it seemed, was going to be far more complicated than he ever could have imagined.

Paco took a deep breath, then walked slowly over to where the man lay. Kneeling, he noticed the weird dance of the flames in the dead man's glassy eyes, then slowly, gently, he reached out and lowered the man's lids.


	12. Jim Chee in January

The wind bit through his thin police jacket. This was Arizona, for godsakes-wasn't it supposed to be hot? Chee's uniform certainly agreed. He tried to blow on his hands to warm them, or stomp his feet…but he was so…tired…

No. He must not succumb to the temptation to rest, though he was…ever so weary…and that rocked looked soft, like a pillow… Jim was suddenly reminded of an old story that his crazy black-sheep aunt Betsy had once told him, about a man who rested on a rock…and the belagana god was there…

Jim snapped his eyes open once more. _No_. He could not submit. He could not give in. Just one more minute…while he rested…

On the bare mountainside Chee let his eyes drift closed for the last time…


	13. Aztecs at--Wait a second

The Nahua man looked his foe dead in the eye and…

Hold on a minute. Aztec was a misnomer! No Mexicans in the southwest! Now get out!

Yeah, well, the end, apparently.


	14. The Cement Sipapu

Cold dread clutched at Veronica's heart, taunting into the grotesque underworld where fear sat upon his throne. No, she told herself; I will _not_ go. She could barely think and only held on to one, inexorable sentiment: something with her sole, precious daughter had gone horribly, terribly wrong.


	15. Second Mesa in Spring

Tara agreed with one thing all right: something had indeed gone horribly, terribly wrong. Here she was, who knew where (though it did look suspiciously similar to her home, at least as far as landscape was concerned), with a group of people who should have died out hundreds of years ago, and they were talking like a bunch of cheesy gangsters! And worst of all, they seemed to be taking themselves very seriously.

At least Mack and Annie were still with her-and, if the looks on their faces were any indication, were at least, if not more, confused than her. They all exchanged glances and the tacit question in each kid's eyes was the same: _what is going on_?

The men led Annie, Tara, and Mack through the village. Along the way they caught snippets of conversation fluttering through. One boy showed another a bow, and the envy was plain in his voice: "No way dude! That is sooo fricken dope!"

But the greatest surprise was yet to come. As they rounded a corner, they came upon a low mud building which seemed to have-were those pillars? Yes, thought Mack, rubbing his eyes: those were honest-to-god Roman columns, carved out of dirt. And inside, perched on a small dais was-

"Persephone," said the Mixmaster, and the reverence he had for her was plain in his eyes. "Dat's da queen bitch, yo!"

Okay, so reverence manifests itself in funny ways sometimes…

Mack's thoughts were churning like the farm on the first day they set up the milking machine. Through it all, a north star in a swirling, long-exposure sky, he clung to one thought: What is the Greek goddess of spring doing in a prehistoric Indian hood?


	16. Three Sisters on Thursday

Tara, Mack, and Annie were taken to a small house and given mats to sleep on. Twilight was rapidly approaching, and none of the children had realized how _tired_ they were-apparently time travel really takes it outta ya.

The three spread out their mats in a row (and that got awkward _real_ fast-Mack was weirded out by Annie-Tara-Mack; Tara didn't like Mack-Annie-Tara; Annie absolutely put her foot down against Mack-Tara-Annie-finally Mack settled down uncomfortably between the two girls) and lay quietly, for a while. Finally Annie summed it up best:

"Weirdest Wednesday _ever_."

And they all sighed and went to sleep.

The next morning, Annie awoke at dawn and slipped out of the house as the sun's forehead began to expose itself. She didn't know where she was going, but found herself walking to a grand-looking adobe pavilion by Persephone's temple that she hadn't noticed the day before. Creeping along like a kitten-that is to say, silently, and with an awkward sort of grace-she wove her way between the strange columns and under the shadowy eaves into the wide hall.

A dark shape moved suddenly, and Annie recoiled-and then to her immense surprise, saw it was-

"Tara!" Annie "whispered" (not one of her stronger skills). "What are you doing here?"

Tara moved in closer, and Annie noticed that she looked haggard, as if she hadn't slept.

"Same thing you are, I guess," Tara responded in a much more discreet manner than Annie. "Exploring-trying to figure out what's going on."

Annie nodded-_that_ was certainly something she could understand. She motioned with her head toward the back of the pavilion, and Tara bobbed her head in agreement; the two continued on.

What they encountered against the rear wall was the strangest altar-for an altar it obviously was-either of them had ever seen.

Another statue of Persephone, this time holding a viny plant that Tara recognized as beans, stood to their left. Next to her, on a slightly taller pedestal, was a woman who looked a bit like Persephone and was holding a bundle of corn-Demeter. And on _her_ other side, a bit lower again, was a striking young woman, who had been crafted with a basket of squash in her arms. Tara looked over at Annie with raised eyebrows, and Annie shrugged, looking puzzled. She didn't know who this one was, either.

Demeter and Persephone smiled down benevolently at the girls through the half-light, but the other's face was more…serious. Had she always looked that mad? Who the heck was she, anyway? And as if she could read their thoughts, the mysterious statue scowled at Tara and Annie, then drew back her arm-stiffly, at first, as though she hadn't moved it in an eternity (she was made of clay, after all-she probably hadn't). As she stretched she seemed to move more fluidly, and then, before either girl knew what was happening, the monument began to fling her (very solid) mud squashes at Tara and Annie. The both yelped, and knew they'd be bruised later-then spun around and fled the temple, dodging vegetables the entire way.

Meanwhile, Mack sat up, rubbed his eyes, and felt around for his glasses. When he had them on he blinked a couple times, then surveyed his surroundings and blinked once more, hard. No Mack, your eyes are not deceiving you-the girls are really gone. Both of them.

He made a frustrated noise. Being friends with a girl like Annie was hard enough for a guy like him, and he had hoped Tara would be different-but, it seemed, she was just as reckless and headstrong as Annie. One was bad enough-how was he going to deal with two?


	17. Tribal Police at Twilight

Meanwhile, back at the ranch-er, I mean, village, the atmosphere had become tense and desperate (almost impressive when you consider they had just witnessed the deaths of their entire tribal council). Mutters and whispers permeated the air like an unpleasant stink.

"Just gone, did you hear?"

"I bet it's cause of those creepy kids."

"Yeah, did you see them?"

"Probably ran away. She was always reckless-well, of course, I mean, look at her mother…"

Veronica clenched her fists at that one, but kept walking at a brisk pace toward the center of town. Waiting there was a full S.Q.U.A.T.™ team.

At the sight of them she had to quell a groan. The Society of Qualified Utes Aiding the Territory was a notoriously bumbling group of rent-a-cop wannabes. S.Q.U.A.T.™ teams were often called in for search and rescue in the Four Corners area (what, you didn't think they'd get the feds out for a couple lost Indians, did ya? They probably just got drunk and wandered off) and everywhere they want, they cause more trouble than solutions. Veronica was admittedly mildly surprised at the _number_ of them, though; a normal team was five to seven men, but there had to be more than forty gathered in front of an impressive array of cruisers, gear, and weaponry. A buzzing noise overhead made Veronica tilt her face back, and she saw two sleek black helicopters with huge searchlights hovering a thousand feet above in the fast-approaching darkness.

One man stepped forward from the gathered group and held out his hand.

"Manny Norrison," the man said proudly, "First Captain of the S.Q.U.A.T.™ team."

"Veronica," she said icily, extending her hand for the man shake vigorously for a second before sharply drawing it back.

"Ma'am, I just want you to know-we _are_ going to find the children," said Norrison with utter conviction. Veronica merely raised her eyebrows and looked the small man up and down. He visibly deflated, and Veronica sighed and turned away. It wasn't fair of her to project her frustrations onto this man, she knew. "I'm sure you will," she said with a hard disbelieving edge to her voice. She took a deep breath, then said more gently, "I'm sure you will."

Norrison turned back to his assembled crew.

"All right boys, UTE know the drill! We must be ast-UTE, and UTE-ilize all of our resources! We will never be subd-UTE! This is what we were born to do since we were in UTE-ro!"

Veronica almost threw up her hands and gave up right then and there-that was _unbelievably_ ridiculous, and besides, "born to do since we were in utero" didn't even make sense-but she was desperate. The men scattered into the sunset with their marching orders to look for the children in all the wrong places.


	18. Water Rights on the Weekend

Kevin Frank-Spider normally liked to sleep in as late as possible on Saturdays, but an insistent jangling from the kitchen telephone was setting his fillings on edge. Finally he stumbled out of bed and over to the receiver.

"Yes?" he mumbled sleepily, and not a little unkindly.

"¡Necesita venir al campo ahorita!" yelled a tinny, frantic voice on the other end.

Kevin grimaced. Spanish-not exactly his strongest suit.

"Uh, si…uh, ¿dónde, um, el campo?" he responded hesitantly.

"El campo de los frijoles mágicos-¡és el agua! ¡Venga inmediatamente!"

The magic bean field? What the hell was this person talking about? "Um…¿qué?"

"¡La inundación viene! Nooooooo..." the voice on the other end screamed, then seemed to gurgle out. Suddenly Kevin felt something cold and wet on his cheek. Impossible, he thought. But the red queen must have been toying with fate that morning, for it was true: As the voice on the other end of the phone was swept away in a freak flood, some of the water had squirt out the other end-right at Kevin's face. He remembered the rumors of skinwalkers stalking the land and shuddered-there was definitely something weird going on.


	19. Get Used to the Ute

Veronica had never been torn between such utter frustration and crushing despair in her life.

"UTE boys take the ch-UTE and we'll meet on the other side of the canyon. Don't forget to UTE those heat-seeking sensors!" Captain Norrison barked orders to the S.Q.U.A.T.™ team enthusiastically, who followed them with equal gusto. Could these men possibly take themselves seriously?

Captain Norrison then turned to his crack hit squad-these eight men were the best and the brightest (supposedly).

"Uh, Captain, what would you like us to do?" one ventured timidly.

"Glad UTE asked!" yelled Norrison. "It's time for UTE to shine! UTE men are P.A.I.U.T.E.®s! Now is when we need UTE most! Now listen to me: firstly, UTE shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze…"

The P.A.I.U.T.E.®s shifted uncomfortably. "Um, Captain?" one said finally. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, no, sorry," amended Norrison. "Here is what UTE shall really do: UTE me, UTE me, cause UTE ain't that average gr-UTE-pie!"

Another man asked him to clarify.

"Okay, listen to me: climb the b-UTE. Ask for the m-UTE. Play his fl-UTE. Drink some cranberry j-UTE-ce for the UTE-e-I. Regr-UTE here at tw-UTE o'clock."

"Sir yes sir!" The men scattered eagerly. Then Captain Norrison beamed at Veronica as if to say, have I done good or have I done good?!

"UTE are UTE-sless! Do UTE think UTE are being c-UTE or something? Find my daughter!" And she stormed away in a huff.


	20. Gwinn Vivian in Gallo Wash

It had been a while since Gwinn Vivian actually went out on a field assignment, and the archaeological team was surprised he had accompanied them today. But Vivian had been adamant, and anyway, you can't say no to the boss.

Vivian led the group up Gallo Wash, noting probable canals and home sites along the way. The team followed, pointing out to him observations they had made earlier in the week, and stopping to examine sherds, flakes, and bits of bone as they went. This was one of the best unexcavated sites in the entire world. _No one_ had been there in hundreds, if not a thousand years.

The party paused for a drink of water by a crumbling ruin. Gwinn peeked inside. It was a low, square structure supported, oddly enough, by pillars. Some sort of altar must have obviously stood against the back wall, but it had long since rejoined the earth from whence it came.

Otherwise the site had mostly items one expects to find in an obviously public building of this sort-sherds, tiny dried pod husks, and charcoal; and also some of the more rare items, like turquoise and shell beads, and exotic bird feathers. Weirdly enough, there was a lot of oddly well-preserved plant-type debris. They were small, uneven sticks with super dry leaves still clinging to them by who-knows-what force; and what looked a lot like-well, what looked a lot like-_olives_? This was a strange sight indeed, he mused; and resolved to e-mail his good friend, renowned archaeoethnobotanist Steve Lekson. The Americas were not exactly his area of expertise, but the Mediterranean and Near East certainly were, and in ancient plant study there, the olive ruled.

As he turned from in front of the main altar to leave, mind wandering like a Bedouin (damn, there's Asia coming up again), the light caught something on the ground just right, and the resulting tiny sparkle broke through his reverie. Vivian knelt to investigate, scrabbling through the years of organic debris. There he extracted an intricately woven friendship bracelet. A plastic crystal bead was tied onto one end of it (that must have been what glittered) and opposite it dangled an assortment of minute charms. There was a tiny silver St. Andrews cross next to a crescent moon with a Star of David nestled in its crook; a little carved rock with the traditional symbol of the Hopi Resting Sun clan on one face and oddly, what looked suspiciously like the Adidas symbol on the verso. Then there was a cheap metal charm that read "Friends," a miniscule paper crane and heart, and a disintegrating cloth moose. Last, a piece of gray stone-granite, if he was not mistaken-shaped into an unusual triangle. This had obviously been here a thousand years. But almost none of it was _from_ a thousand years ago. Maybe six months, if that.

"Professor Vivian?" he heard a student timidly call from the outside. Hastily, he dropped the bracelet, covered it up with dirt and a distinctive stick, and went to meet up with his team. He wasn't sure why, but something told him to keep this find a secret.


	21. Hey, I'm Not Hualapai

Isabelle, how could you know they would call you such names?

With a thousand feet beneath your two, you felt

Alive.

But you learned along with them that every action as an equal and opposite reaction.

And you learned along with them that something so vast and sacred as far as you can see,

must be countered with the small

And profane.

Lazy, stupid, drunk, words like maggots burrow into your head

They fester there and grow powerful.

They lay eggs and reproduce by themselves;

it was no voice but your own that taunted fat, weak, utterly insufferable.

What do you do when you can't stand yourself?

You stop trying to stand altogether

you fly.

Soar into the firmament, join the stars that are your ancestors, I don't care what

Tribe you are.

You're above them, literally.

Revel in your wings and pity those below;

for a mind heavy with prejudice cannot get off the ground.

I don't care who you are,

For this you know to be true.


	22. Thief of Tire

No one liked to talk about it, but Kevin had a little brother. Kennedy was six years younger but looked twenty years older, and he could have been the dictionary definition of "black sheep."

Risa Frank had tried time and time again to shear her baby, insisting that underneath the tarry, matted wool there would be a clean white lamb. And time and time again, the wool grew baaack as inky as the deepest winter midnight.

Indeed, there was a dusting of snow on the road as Kevin Frank-Spider drove through Window Rock. The darkest of seasons was upon us yet.

He had been in Window Rock following the water-rights saga; the Navajo Nation had become involved. Kevin sighed and scratched his head-it was an ugly situation all around, and definitely headed nowhere good.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost failed to notice a man pushing a monstrous tractor tire across the road. Quickly he hit the brake, and yanked the e-brake to be sure (hey, he was a reporter in Hopi-he didn't exactly make a salary that could get him a new car, or even the old one fixed). Then he looked out his side window to see whom he had almost flattened, and what he saw stopped his heart like an e-brake.

Peering out from under a tangle of greasy, ragged hair was Kennedy.

The two locked eyes for a minute and then Kennedy, panic written across his stubbly face, started to roll the tire away from the road and then to Kevin's utter astonishment, hopped in and let gravity do the rest.

Normally Kevin played it safe-he was not, by nature, a daring or impulsive man (probably because of his brother, but that's a story for a different time). But it had been seven years since he last saw Kennedy, profiled in the setting sun with his thumb proffered, yearning for a ride to anywhere but here. Kevin had thought, after not hearing about his brother from any reliable sources, including his mom and the Greater Moenkopi Legacy's police blotter. And so he had assumed that Kennedy was either too far away for rumor of his misdeeds to return to his ancestral home; or, and this one Kevin thought much more likely, he was dead.

About three years ago he had given up hope of ever finding Kennedy and so he had made a small, private ceremony where he could mourn, albeit strangely, his brother. Kevin threw himself into his work after that-ironically, work he had only taken up because he thought he might find information on Kennedy.

So to see his brother standing there looking thoroughly spooked but nonetheless definitely alive was a bit much for Kevin to digest all at once, like an interesting lemon square that you're not sure if it's good or not, and then your mom yells "time to go!" and you shove the rest into your mouth and see how it goes. Window Rock, goddamnit-less than two hours away all this time and he never once gave a fuck to what the (precious few, it must be noted) people who cared about him must have though. It was enough to fill Kevin with rage and before his brain knew what he was doing, his body jerked the steering wheel left, swerved across two lanes of traffic, and followed the dust cloud down a tiny dirt path on the side of a wide embankment.

Kevin bounced around, frightened and exhilarated all at once. He was chasing a rogue tractor tire, for goodness' sakes; it would be pretty stupid to bend an axle on such a ridiculous chase. But his little brother Kenny was in there, and Kevin decided right then that he would let nothing obstruct his fraternal pursuit. He stepped on the gas and was rewarded with a huge lump on the top of his head from hitting the cab roof as the truck hit a rock.

But Gravity and Fate are too powerful for mere mortals to control, and the tire stopped its rotation just up ahead. Kevin was just catching up as Kennedy climbed out and ran away with stunning balance for someone had just somersaulted for a good three minutes straight. Kevin thought he had him now but noticed, too late, that his truck was sinking back towards the earth, hundreds of tiny holes in every tire from inadvertently driving through the cactus underbrush.

Powered by adrenaline instead of gasoline (better for you, better for the environment. Go on, make Grover proud. And your mother, too. Call her once in a while, eh?) Kevin continued in hot pursuit of his long-lost brother.


End file.
